


pantomime

by sophiecognito



Series: gala and pal's xiv fics [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/F, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiecognito/pseuds/sophiecognito
Summary: She really should've brought flowers.Or, a Warrior of Light thinks of words unsaid in Azys Lla.
Relationships: Ysayle Dangoulain/Warrior of Light
Series: gala and pal's xiv fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906081
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	pantomime

Galatea found the flowers at the very edge of Azys Lla. 

“Even Estinien brought you flowers,” she muttered, her own hand absent of anything but a lance. The bouquet lay on the lip of the platform where any errant gust would pluck the petals away. Down below, the sky was as blue as a robin’s egg and she focused on it instead of the sickly green above her.

Carefully, she sat next to them, her legs dangling into the abyss below. Such heights were impossible for any creature to reach on their own, yet Ysayle had tried--

No, she never expected anything past her moment of sacrifice; would defeat the purpose of it, after all. Ysayle did not touch the city above the clouds. 

“You would’ve seen Tiamat,” Galatea said, for she knew they would be steadfast companions as the rest held the imperials at bay. Two warriors of light set on the path to stop Thordan, an unrealized dream. “Maybe you were the key in convincing her to break her self imposed fetters.” She picked the bouquet up, played with the starchy paper. 

A node whizzed near her, but thought better of it. The paper crinkled between her fingers, crackling like shattered ice. 

“All those times when I could not find you in the city, you were in the Churning Mists all along,” she said. And she had searched for a modicum of comfort, of the hushed conversation they would have, of her hand in hers, but Ishgard deprived Galatea of her too. “I wonder how you made your peace with Hraesvelgr, how he made peace with you.” She chuckled, her chest burning. What an acerbic dragon. “At least, enough to lend you his wings.” An animosity evaporated in one single moment, Ysayle in command of the sky for ice and snow ever fell from the heavens. 

Galatea wished they never made up. A childish, impulsive thought to have for the unchanging past.

“Did you miss me as I missed you?” she asked the flowers, pale as her hair, blue as her eyes. Estinien had a modicum of taste, she would admit. The melancholy from retracing her steps throughout Eorzea bloomed in the corner of her eyes. “Do you now, I wonder?” 

Kicking the air, feeling the chill, Galatea looked forward, hoping the cold stopped the tears before they escaped.

“I…” she croaked. Nothing passed her lips. She heaved a sigh. At least with Haurchefant she had a grave, a body, a memento. Ysayle had none. No grave, no body, her crystal shattered. Its twin sat nestled in her bag, as if to mock her. 

“Forgive me,” she said after the silence sang its tune too close to her ear. The words she had meant to say languished under her tongue. “Forgive me my tears now and not before, Ysayle.” She had been too numb to cry, spent after Haurchefant’s death so close to hers. Then, she had wailed and screamed, yet the most she mustered at the time was the silent bow of her head. 

Sentiment did not become her in age, a toy to be put away as she grew, but Galatea clutched it to her chest this one time. 

No one understood her as Ysayle did. Chosen by the same hand, kindred in nature. Shaking, she plucked a petal from the nearest flower. Her nail dug a crescent into its soft skin, stilling. 

“I should have told you before.” Regret ate her words, but she pushed on. She set forth to retrace her steps, but that didn’t mean a simple pantomime sufficed. 

Three words, lost in the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> SE give ysayle a proper headstone like Haurchefant pls, it's been years by now


End file.
